


Restitution

by Llewelley



Category: Henry V - Shakespeare, Henry VI - Shakespeare, The Hollow Crown (2012), Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Catholic Guilt, Class Differences, F/M, Light Dom/sub, Multiple Orgasms, Porn With Plot, Power Dynamics, slightly underage at one point but consensual, some canon shakespeare, some historical accuracy, someone needs a hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-30
Updated: 2014-08-30
Packaged: 2018-02-15 10:27:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2225631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llewelley/pseuds/Llewelley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You were just another servant working in the royal residence when the Prince of Wales took your innocence. Years later, the noble King Henry wishes to make it up to you somehow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Restitution

You would be lying to yourself if you claimed that you don’t think about it every time you see him, although you rarely get more than a glimpse of the man. He’s always away on foreign affairs or behind closed doors with his council, but on the odd occasion you spot him walking through the halls conversing with a statesman or across the courtyard alongside his page after dismounting his horse. Every single time he crosses your path, your head clouds with memories and heat rises to your face. You remind yourself that things are different now, that His Majesty is a dignified man, changed by war and by the years of scholarly pursuits that he had devoted himself to following the death of his good father. It’s just that in the few times you have caught him smiling since, you couldn’t help but notice the spark of mischief still alive in his eyes. 

*

You’ve been employed by the royal household as a laundress since the age of fifteen and from the very beginning you were warned to avert your eyes from the King’s sons and stay at a safe distance lest you become easy pickings like many serving girls and scullery maids before you. You were told to take cautions around the Prince of Wales in particular, as his playboy reputation preceded him throughout the country. Rumor had it also that he was remarkably attractive and charismatic, making his questionable morality even more cause for concern. You never even caught sight of him during your younger years because he was always out engaging in debauchery in London, or so you were told. 

So when you first saw a tall man with reddish-gold hair speaking with one of the older laundresses in the bleaching grounds, you wondered who the young noble must be. He seemed rather uncouth with his short stubble and lightly flushed skin, but his garments were of the finest quality leather and he had the elegant profile and self-assured gait of someone of great importance. _Prince Hal_ , it dawned on you. You hastily returned to your work stirring the lye water, but any effort you were making to not stare at the heir to the throne was thwarted when from the corner of your eye you saw the prince unbuckle and remove his red leather doublet, an action that was promptly followed by him lifting his dark undershirt over his head, revealing his entire upper body. It was a highly inappropriate thing to do and naturally the girls around you began to gasp and giggle and make bawdy comments to one another, but the prince either didn’t hear or did not care. Hal handed his shirt over to the woman, slipped his jacket back on without buttoning it, and began to make his way toward the soaking tubs where you and the other girls were at work. All of them suddenly fell silent and bowed their heads, but you, to your shame, could not look away from the handsome prince, whose torso remained exposed. As he walked past, a quick glance from him met yours and you froze in place at the realization that he had noticed you. His eyes traveled quickly up and down your body and his face broke out into a roguish, flirtatious smile. You felt his gaze all over your skin and you just knew that he had turned his head to look back at you as he walked to the castle entrance. 

Later in the day, as you delivered fresh linens to each chamber for the maids to replace, you felt a sinking feeling in your stomach that he was still somewhere in the castle, looking for you. And he was.

You ran square into his chest as you attempted to exit through the stables, hoping to be discreet. He was still not wearing an undershirt and your cheek made contact with his bare flesh. “Forgive me, Your Highness, I did not mean—“ “No need to apologize,” he cut you off. “Why have I not seen you before, darling girl?”  
He was absolutely beaming with pride at having caught you unaccompanied and leered down the bridge of his nose at you as he leaned against the doorframe.  
“Well, because, Sir… you are not often around, and, well, I only work twice a week in the castle, Sir,” you stammered anxiously. He looked at you sympathetically with his brilliant green eyes but did not bother to disguise his grin. He was amused by your bewilderment. “And do you enjoy working here? Serving your king and country?”  
“I do, Sir.”  
He then delicately took one of your wrists in his hand and lowered his head to meet you face to face. “Tell me,” he commanded in a low voice, “do you follow orders well?”

You still remember it so vividly, the way you allowed him to lead you into his rooms without protest, the way his strong hands felt as he unlaced your gown and slipped them underneath to trace the curves of your body. You knew it was wrong. You were seventeen and aside from a couple of mild encounters with other boys, you had never truly been with a man. You knew that he was taking advantage of you, that this was the mistake you’d been told to avoid, but whatever had been said about the prince in the past didn’t seem to describe the man kneeling before you, helping you out of your clothes. In between passionate kisses, he instructed you on what to do and you obeyed him. He was your future king, after all. It didn’t even cross your mind to deny him anything. You didn’t know if it was the feeling of lust overpowering you or whether he had won you over with his gentleness, but when Hal grabbed you by the hips and thrust into your body for the first time, you held on to him desperately, not wanting to let go. It was the first time you’d felt the warmth and weight of a man over you and in your mind you repeated silent prayers thanking God that it was this man. You wrapped your legs around his waist and let him draw ragged cries from your throat until he was fully satisfied.

*

Four years have passed since your encounter with Henry. After it happened, you went on with your life and most days you didn’t even recall it happening. It’s hard to believe it happened at all. Yet his physical presence still prompts the memory, and it’s been announced that His Majesty will be holding court with the King of Hungary starting tomorrow. You’ve been told the king is on edge due to the severity of his conflict with the Valois. Gathering allies to go against the most powerful monarchy in Europe has not been easy, and hosting this gathering of political minds is crucial to the English campaign. 

You’re taking part in the preparations for the event by instructing some younger girls on how to properly clean a tapestry without damaging the gold thread or causing any puckering. This one is to hang in the king’s library and it has taken all day to bring all the colors out. It lies unfurled on the floor of one of the great halls as the evening begins to fall and all that is left to do is to deliver it to its location.  
You hear steps echoing through the corridor and as they get closer the distinctive clicking of riding boots on marble becomes clear. 

Henry’s entrance is immediately acknowledged and you all stand to curtsy. He is alone, wearing a black velvet cotehardie with silver buttons down the front and dark leather breeches. His ginger hair is smoothed back behind his ears, his beard is neatly trimmed, and he wears no crown. Despite the serious demeanor brought on by the heavy burden of war, the young king is still a sight to behold. 

“Very well,” he speaks, “A stag hunt, yes? Old Sigismund will be very impressed.” He circles around with heavy steps that echo throughout the room and examines it closely. “Fine work indeed. You are free to go.”

As the other workers exit the hall, you dare to speak up.  
“Your Majesty.”

“Yes?” He addresses you in what you are sure is the first time since… well.

“Sir, would you like me to call for someone that will hang the tapestry in your room?”

“No, I shall do it myself now. But thank you for your consideration.”

You can’t help but smile at the thought of the king kneeling down to roll the fabric and carrying it over his shoulder down the hallways. Sometimes he humbles himself a bit too much.  
“As you wish, Sir,” you say as you turn to exit and finally release the tension from your shoulders. 

“Stay, good woman.” You hear him say in a gentler voice. “I wish to speak with you.”

You feel a hint of dread nagging at your chest. Had you done something wrong?  
“Yes, Sir?” You turn back around to see him looking straight at you. He stands for a moment, looking up at the high ceilings and toward the open entrances. This is hardly an intimate room.

“Follow me,” he says and makes his way back into the corridor. With some hesitation, you do as you’re told. Henry orders his page to take care of the tapestry before leading you into the maze of corridors.  
Throughout the castle candles are being lit already, but the king does not light a lamp. You stay by his side as he walks slowly with a sober expression, soon realizing that he isn’t leading you anywhere. He is simply pacing.

“I was discussing with my gracious Lord of Canterbury the law of restitution earlier today,” he tells you. “This moral law exists to restore to any person injured what is rightfully theirs, thus putting them in their former position. The transgressor must make this reparation.”  
You look at him with confusion, but he goes on.  
“Now, sometimes, a man commits an injustice against his neighbor which is practically irreparable. Yet the law states that he should make whatever reparation is possible in order to restore harmony and trust between the two parties.”  
Henry slows down his pace, stops, and turns to you. His eyes appear to be the deepest blue in the moonlight as he looks into yours. He blinks and bows his head slightly as if he wishes to hear your opinion on the matter. 

“This is very interesting, Your Majesty. But may I ask what it has to do with me?” 

He tilts his chin upwards, glaring down his nose at you. For a second you remember the way he looked years ago as he stood by the stable door, blocking your exit. Then his face relaxes into a modest smile, full of poignancy.

“Don’t presume that I do not remember who you are and what I did to you,” he says. 

Now you are holding your breath again, unprepared for this conversation. You have never considered the possibility that the king remembered you, that he could even pick you out from the crowds of servants after the day he dismissed you from his bed. But he does.

“You didn’t do anything to me, Sir. I allowed it.”

“I may not have taken you by force, but seduction is an indiscretion of its own kind. It’s only fair that I offer you something in return after taking what rightfully belonged to you and your future husband. I was a wild, careless man for many years and I am trying now, harder than ever, to behave like the just ruler my father was and atone for my wrongdoings,” the king explains. 

It pains you to see the sincerity in his eyes and suddenly you feel the need to comfort him. Never was a crown heavier than the one worn by Henry now, everyone in England is aware of that. The past few years have been brutal and he has worked tirelessly to be perfect, both as a king and as a man.

“But why should I, of all people, be deserving of Your Majesty’s apology? I’m sure there are many people from your riotous youth more worthy of it. I don’t hold any resentment, Sir. I have always been your faithful servant.”  
He considers your words for a moment and nods. Something then changes in his face and his expression of concern quickly melts into another rare smile. “Indeed,” he says, his eyes crinkling from the force of what is now a grin.  
“Oh, I wish I could count the poor girls my brothers and I chased from this property. It’s a wonder any of them stayed in our service. Bless your heart.”

You feel relief wash over you as Henry’s stoicism gives way to his natural lightheartedness. He begins to pace again and you are now walking more comfortably in his presence. You pass by some attendants and rather than ignore them as he is known to, he politely relieves them of their duties for the day. “But I must admit,” he continues. “My guilt is mainly a consequence of my selfish behavior. I recall seeing a beautiful girl at work out on the fields, a girl with glowing skin and loose hair who any man should feel lucky to cast his eyes upon, and I thought to myself ‘I must have her. I must be the first man to know her.’”  
Henry’s words begin to have an effect on your body, the rich sound of his voice resonating throughout until you’re forced to take deeper breaths. You feel yourself blush at his description, but you stay silent, wanting him to go on.  
“But when you permitted me this, I did not take measures to ensure that the experience would be to your satisfaction as well. Also, I’m afraid that my carelessness may have caused you some physical discomfort.”

You shake your head in disagreement. “No, Sir, you did not hurt me… it was an enjoyable experience,” you dare to say. 

“I don’t see why you should have enjoyed it. I did not care for your pleasure, only for my own.”

“You were more than considerate, Sir, I assure you I felt no pain.”

“But did you feel pleasure?”

“Hmm,” you ponder over it, trying to come up with an answer both honest and innocuous. “Yes. Some.”

“Some?”

“It was more of the thrill of being with Your Majesty, I suppose.”

Suddenly you feel like he is looming over you again and you try not to look at him as you await his response. A sonorous yet humble laughter fills the void and you exhale.  
“Well.” He says. “Well, I suppose I had a more charming appearance before this war aged me. Yet that does not excuse a thing. I am not satisfied with your willingness to absolve me, darling girl.”  
_Why have I not seen you before, darling girl?_ You hear in your head. The thought makes your knees feel weak, but you will yourself to look at him again. This stops him in his tracks immediately and being confronted by his powerful presence fills you with nerves again.

“Sir, I cannot agree to any compensation you offer. I don’t believe it is fair.”

The refusal does not change Henry’s expression. For a few long moments he stares at you, thoughts seemingly forming in his mind. You desperately wish you could make something of it, but the man is unreadable. Just as you begin to fear that you have overstepped your bounds and drop your gaze, he places a hand underneath your chin and compels you to look into his eyes. 

“It does not matter whether you think it is fair or not, _I insist._ ”

Those last words come out of him with such authority that your breath catches in your throat. But then you notice that his eyes are not severe, but rather teeming with desperation. You can’t imagine what he must be going through, waking every day to a country on the brink of disaster, not knowing what the outcome of his every action will be but being aware that the fate of a nation depends on him. All he is asking of you is to allow him this favor, and you have denied it. He wants fulfillment. He wants release. 

“For your sake, I’ll accept anything.” 

He lifts both of his hands, clasping them around your face so that you cannot tear yourself away from his eyes. He brings his thumb to your lips and gently traces them as he speaks in his deep yet delicate voice, perfectly audible in the dark and empty hallway. “If I am to decide what is just, then I say it is my obligation to give you what is due to you. And what you deserve, what your king owes you, is his undivided attention. His selflessness.”  
His hands slowly travel from the side of your face down to your neck and shoulders. He diverts his eyes to look upon your now heaving chest. You can’t believe it. This can’t possibly be happening to you twice in a lifetime.  
“I intend to give you now what I should have given you then. I want to show you that I am a caring man. A benevolent man. Do you think it is possible for me to convince you of this?”

“I already believe it, Sir,” you say, shakily. “But if you wish to show me—”

“I do wish it,” he interjects. 

He moves both hands to your back and pulls you in close toward his body, your hands pressing against the velvet that covers his chest as your lips meet. Henry’s short beard is rough against your skin, but his lips, slightly windburned from riding, are incredibly gentle on yours. He delves into your mouth with sweet-tempered passion as he drags his hands up the sides of your dress to cup the underside of your breasts. Your hands ache to wander the rest of his body, but you still have some reservations that tell you this isn’t real.

“Tell me,” he says in between a kiss, shaking you from your daze. “Do you know how to give orders?”

You remain speechless, not knowing how to respond as he moves his lips to kiss the skin of your neck which sends shivers down your spine.  
“I trust that you do. Because the only way I can repay you is by giving you what you want, and the only way I can give you what you want is if you tell me what that is. Do you understand?”  
You nod. Yes, you understand what he means, and this understanding has completely inflamed your body with anticipation. “Yes, Sir,” you say.

“No ‘Sir.’ Call me by my Christian name.”

“Yes, Henry.”

He moves his body swiftly downward to sweep you off your feet and you let out a small cry of surprise which he silences with a quick kiss. Even though he is now bearing your entire weight in his arms, he walks with long, decisive strides down the hallway and it is not long before the two of you are at the large wooden door to his bedchamber. He kicks it open and once inside, sets you down on the ground to bolt it shut. You notice that the ring chandelier hoisted from the ceiling has already been lit, giving the room a dreamy glow. His Majesty’s rooms have always impressed you with their spaciousness, rich furnishings and fabrics, and the sweet scent of damask rose that pervaded throughout. You rarely set foot in the royal bedchamber for more than a minute at a time, and you have a feeling this will be a longer stay than you are accustomed to.

You turn back to look at Henry who has not shifted his gaze from you since you stepped into the room, though you are still taking in the space. His lust-filled eyes sparkle in the candlelight as he stands in the center of the floor. He is looking at you like he wishes to do so much, yet does nothing. You don’t dare to move.

“You’re still intimidated by me aren’t you?”

You nod again. It’s true, you’re not sure what to do in this position. It is troubling enough that your desire for his touch grows with each passing moment, but to have him insist that you should assert yourself is discomforting. In the presence of nobility, submission is your natural state. 

“Well, we can’t have that. But do not worry about it. It takes time and practice—I should know,” he says, walking towards you. “Soon you will be at ease, and then you shall not have a problem showing us who’s in charge.”  
He kindly grabs your hand and leads you to the edge of his canopied bed, where he sits and pulls you in to straddle his lap. Your bare thighs rest on the leather covering his own and you swing your arms around his neck. You’re somewhat frustrated that the fabric of your chemise has bunched up in between your legs so that there is an extra layer of separation in what would have otherwise been a delicious sensation of leather on heated flesh considering your lack of underwear. The palms of his hands stay firmly planted on the mattress on either side of him so that the only active contact you feel is his hot breath against your skin. This man, the first man you ever knew, awakened something in you on that day that had not gone away since and is alive now more than ever. His inactivity is torturing you, he is perfectly still, he doesn’t even kiss you. Still hesitant, but desperate for something more, you run your hands through his ginger locks and hold him even closer, so that there is not a wedge of space between your bodies. You can feel him growing large and hard underneath the smooth leather, but even with this involuntary reaction, the rest of his body does not move. You let your weight fall heavier on him, seeing if the rising friction will cause him to respond, but still there’s nothing. You accept that you need to do things more deliberately if this deep desire that is swelling inside you is to be satiated. And he has promised to do just that. 

As you begin to circle your hips slowly over the stiff bulge in his lap, Henry shuts his eyes tightly and clenches his jaw. He can’t help the low grumble that escapes from his throat, but he remains poised like a soldier. The more you do this, the further your wetness spreads and you feel some of it seeping through the thin linen onto the leather so that with each movement the area where your sexes touch is slick. It’s such a delightful feeling that you nearly forget that it is up to you to make the next move as well.  
You can’t wait any longer. You need to see his body, see if it has changed, if it is still as beautiful as you remember. You slide your hands over the smooth velvet from his solid torso up to his chest and begin undoing the top bottom. Henry shifts his hands backwards, opening his body to you so that you may unbutton his jacket completely. It quickly becomes evident that he is wearing no undershirt and with every button you exposed a bit more of his flesh. As the garment opens, your fingertips graze the light smattering of hair at the center of his warm chest and glide in the grooves between his abdominal muscles. His breathing is strong, but paced evenly with exceptional control and you feel the rise and fall as you slide your hands underneath the fabric, pushing it completely off his broad shoulders. The king’s body is fitter now than it has ever been and his fair skin is made golden by the light. But the scars from battle are now visible, a testament to the reality of His Majesty’s sacrifice, no longer something to be hidden by armor and whispered about solemnly. His appearance is perfectly heroic.

“If anyone deserves to have a clear conscience, it is certainly you, Henry,” you tell him, tilting your head downward to kiss the scar tissue on his left shoulder. He removes his right hand from the bed and lifts it to clutch your hair, gently angling your head back up and growling into your ear, “Then clear it for me.”

The stimulating sound of his voice provokes you to grind into his hardness again, but he simply returns his hand to his side. He has made it clear enough that this is your show to run, and your reservations about the situation are fading into thin air as your heart pounds harder in your chest. You grasp the hem of your dress, bunching it up at your waist and give the order. “Undress me. Then rise and undress yourself.”

Henry’s eyes widen with excitement and for a brief moment he appears uncertain, but his nimble fingers quickly find the openings on either side of your kirtle and begin to loosen the tightly laced bodice, allowing your breasts to spill out far enough that your nipples remain just barely covered. He grabs hold of the gathered fabric and lifts the gown above your head, your chemise being dragged along in a single, hasty movement. 

Henry breathes out a low, echoing hum at the sight of your exposed flesh and rests his hands on your thighs, mouth somewhat agape. You wonder if this was your same expression when you first saw him standing shirtless in the light of day and he caught you lingering for a bit too long. Your eyes lock as his hands skim the curve of your back and slither down to the soft flesh of your buttocks. You feel your body begin to tremble at his touch, so you decide to deny him anymore control by sliding off his lap and standing before him. He lets out a small gasp in protest, but drinks in every inch of your nude figure with his ravenous eyes. Seeing him marvel at you is increasing your confidence.  
You saunter away from him so he can admire you from behind, circle around and climb onto the bed. You recline against the headboard, sinking your body into the silver fur throw that covers the pillows and watch attentively as Henry kicks off his riding boots and stands at the foot of the bed, framed by the canopy posts. His jacket, still hanging off his shoulders, falls to the ground when he tugs his arms out of the sleeves and he is left completely bare from the waist up. You want to touch him again, to let your fingertips explore the smooth and scarred skin and feel the firmness of every muscle, but you tell yourself to wait, to let him come to you. 

It’s not easy. You close your eyes and your hand wanders down to stroke the throbbing nub between your legs, slipping down into the dewy folds and finding that tiny opening that is begging to be breached. For a moment you are lost in the familiar sensation and you do not care that your king is watching you. 

“It has been too long, hasn’t it?” you hear him say. Your eyes snap open to find him slowly unbuckling the belt that is holding up his trousers. “I thought about it many times,” he goes on. “About finding you, dragging you into my rooms and pushing myself into your tight little cunt like before. I knew you would not object. I knew you wanted it. So what is stopping me? I wondered.” He sighs deeply. “Virtue. Respect. Civility. Things I had to learn quite quickly and are now a part of me.” You squirm in the sheets as his trousers drop to his feet, his erect cock springing up to nearly touch his stomach and then standing straight. “I felt ashamed for thinking of you in such a way. But seeing you now, how much you ache for me… Who am I to deprive you of what you want?”  
He bends forward to glide his hands over the silk, crawling onto the bed until he is looming over you, his body covering yours from all sides. 

“Tell me what you want.”

His growling voice makes you want to reach back down and touch yourself again, but instead you lift your hand up to his face. Two of your fingers are still glossy with your wetness and he seems to be holding his breath as he looks at them, waiting to see what you are going to do. Before you can press the digits to his lips, he opens his mouth and engulfs them, sucking on them passionately. You inhale sharply as he laps up every drop of your moisture with a drawn out lewd moan. Every inch of your body is now tense with desire and without thinking twice, you spread your legs further apart and simultaneously clasp his head to pull him in for a kiss. Henry continues his wanton moaning as he explores your mouth with his unbridled tongue and suddenly you can’t help but echo his every desperate sound and buck up against his body. The tips of your hard nipples are now touching his chest and although Henry seems to delight in every bit of contact, he avoids touching you, balancing his weight on his forearms beside you instead. Just as you are beginning to find comfort in his deep, ardent kisses, he slows down to the point where you simply have to stop in order to gauge his behavior. His forehead presses against yours. 

“I want to taste more of you,” he murmurs pleadingly. “May I…” 

“Yes,” you exclaim, as his hand slips down to your inner thigh.

“Where?”

“You know where.”

“I do not,” he says, a devilish smile curling up on the side of his mouth. His eyes are still so full of want as they look up at you. 

You cover his hand with your own and guide him to the wet, throbbing heat that is now revealed to him. He drags only the tips of his fingers over your slit and you quiver with excitement. Without further instruction, Henry shifts his body lower down on the bed until he is resting between your knees, his face dangerously close to your most sensitive area, his steamy breath sweeping over your skin. As he lowers his neck and shoulders, you reach down to stroke the soft locks on his head, encouraging him to begin his ministrations. Henry instead decides to rub the side of his face against your inner thigh, the rough bristles of his beard leaving behind a numbed trail. You take pleasure in the feeling, but your frustration overpowers you and you forcefully tug at his hair in an attempt to redirect him. The uncharacteristic action shakes you out of your daze. You part your lips to apologize, but it is too late. You freeze mid-action with the first swipe of his warm, smooth tongue and let out a strained cry. Your hand falls from atop his head to the mattress and you clutch the fabric, fumbling for a moment until you settle back into a still pose. You’re overwhelmed by the sensations traveling from the pit of your stomach through your veins and your mind is clouding with thoughts on what to do next. He had responded so positively to your assertiveness—there is so much you want from him now. But the feeling of the tip of his tongue lingering over your moistened flesh is rendering you speechless and motionless. He laps up every bit of your wetness with long, luxurious strokes as his hand slips over your pelvis, coming to a stop when his thumb touches the aching nub above your opening. You quiver and Henry’s lungs vibrate with a nearly inaudible chuckle as his tongue slips up and down again, parting the inner lips and teasing the entrance. The memory flashed in your head of the way he chuckled sympathetically, exactly in this manner, years ago as he guided your young, inexperienced hands all over his body. You make a note to explore it again tonight. Your own body is feverish as his tongue comes down on you again and again, as he sucks, and grazes his teeth. You want to cry out, to call him Sir, My Lord, Master, but you know you must find the strength to demand from him what you want.

“Henry,” you finally say. He pulls away hesitantly and places a kiss on your hipbone. “Yes, beautiful?” The words seem to choke you, “Fill me… use your fingers…” 

His knowing eyes narrow and glimmer. “It would be my pleasure,” he whispers gruffly, maintaining a hint of gentlemanly decorum. He lifts himself up from the bed and moves upward, falling on your right side, sliding his left arm under your head. His eyes lock with yours as he presses a finger just beneath your navel and drags it down until it disappears, and with excruciating slowness pushes into you soft, wet heat. The rush of pleasure is dizzying at first. His face is so close to yours, for the first time you notice the small scar on his right cheek and you tilt your chin up to kiss it. Your noses touch and your lips search for his, inviting him into a passionate kiss that persists as you ease back down to rest your head again and he follows. “More. But gently,” you tell him. He withdraws, joins two long fingers together and pushes back in, stretching you so that you moan within the confines of your throat as he nips your lower lip with his teeth. 

“I don’t suppose that you have had very much experience with a hand that is not your own touching you in this way,” Henry says frankly, “Will you permit me to try different things? Will you let me know what feels good?”

“Yes. Please.”

His first act is to twist his fingers in unison inside your body. You feel the thickness of the two digits in full and your arch your back off the bed, accommodating the stinging pressure. Encouraged by your moans, he begins to pump his fingers in and out at steadily, the wetness building up and dripping down to his hand. You feel like he is just short of reaching to your very depths and the thrill of it is slowly driving you mad. You begin to grind your hips down with each thrust and mutter “harder” whenever you feel that you can take more. Next to your ear, you hear your lover’s soft panting which increases slightly whenever he picks up the pace on your command. “Harder,” you repeat.  
Instead of increasing his speed, this time you feel him curve his fingers upward, the tips firm against the inner wall. You wait in suspense. He pushes up, and continues his thrusting, but this time he is touching a spot inside you that you didn’t know existed. Your hands let go of the sheets and fly up to grab his arm, struggling to find stability as the rest of your body sinks into a pool of pleasure. “Don’t… stop… please…” you whimper, now gripping his wrist and urging him to press forward. You don’t want this to be the end, but you have no intention of going back. Henry seems to have no intention of stopping either. The arm that is under your head wraps tight around your body and his head falls back down to incite a kiss which you gladly permit and immediately deepen. His tongue in your mouth moves cautiously, sliding against your own slowly, in contrast to the unrelenting rhythm you can feel in your abdomen as he drives his fingers into you. The heat inside you is rising. You feel your muscles tightening, but you lack the strength to maintain your body tense, to struggle against anything… Thoughts are disappearing into thin air… All your senses are dissolving and reforming deep inside you. You tear away from his lips and gasp inaudibly as he pushes another finger in and it is all too much. Yet you want to ask for more. He focuses his attention on you, trying to decipher whatever nonsense you are mumbling, but it doesn’t matter anymore. It takes one more thrust and even before the word “God” escapes through your teeth, you know and he knows that you are crashing. You spill onto his hand with a gentle rush of warmth and fall slumped against him, your cheek against his chest. 

Your breathing steadies unhurriedly. Blinking your eyes open, you nuzzle into Henry’s shoulder. There’s his battle scar, a jagged line stretching from his underarm to his collarbone. He’s still lying on his side, with his eyes fully open, his hand now resting on your knee. Like the room, his skin and hair also smell of roses. Suddenly feeling a bit timid again in his presence, you inch away from him and cross an arm over your naked breasts. He looks down at you from heavy eyelids, the once neatly combed hair now falling over his brow in small ginger waves. The look on his face is pleasing, his mouth set with slightly parted lips and eyes still burning with lust, but he is controlled. His body is posed not for his own comfort, but to suit your needs. He is waiting again. Patiently waiting for you. 

You move closer to him, returning to the perfectly carved spot on the bed where your forehead meets his chest and legs weave together. You can feel the length of his cock pressed between his stomach and your own. The stunning weariness that you had felt a minute ago is gone, all you can think about is touching his body, how wonderful it had felt then and how good it feels to be so close to him once again. 

“Lie back,” you sigh. He remains still. “Lie back,” you repeat more loudly, turning to look him in the eye. You trace the line of his jaw with one finger and admire the sharp bridge of his nose as his brow furrows, eyes questioning your plans. 

“Lie back for me as I have for you, Henry.” 

It’s a fair request. With a softened expression, he rolls onto his shoulder blades, keeping his arms by his sides. You try your best to ignore the obvious, though you catch a quick glance of it, standing straight and firm, thick all throughout with a drop of moisture glistening on its rosy tip. Marvelous thing. Instead, you focus on his upper body, a tightly muscled form despite His Majesty’s natural slenderness. He watches as you kneel beside him and place both hands on his chest. You slide them flat onto his ribcage, running through the thin film of sweat covering his skin. The large bedroom suddenly feels very intimate; you listen to the sound of his breathing and he listens to yours. Your hands reach down to his taut stomach, your wrist grazes the line of hair starting beneath his navel. He is strong and elegant, skin radiant even in the shadow of the canopy.

 _Tell me, Henry. Why me. Tell me why me, why now,_ you think to yourself as you feel the rise and fall of his breathing underneath your hands.  
“Because you were the last. The very last,” he mumbles roughly.

Your eyes dart up to his face and it dawns on you that you have not only thought the words, but had said them in a whisper. His eyelashes flutter as he turns his head towards you, making eye contact. The intimidation you felt in the beginning has dulled. 

“Did you feel guilty so suddenly?” you ask, hands smoothing over his sides. 

“I did. I felt guilty even as I was making love to you.” He shifts his body in place under your touch and his face bears an expression of deep reflection. “I had just returned from a drinking binge in London. I was gone for nearly a month. Then the sheriff found me and passed on a message calling me to attend a dinner with the barons to discuss the rebellion. Well, I rode home early the following day. My father took one look at me and turned his back with disgust—did not greet me, did not tell me he missed me. He simply ordered me to clean up before I sat at his table that evening.” His neck rolls to one side and his eyes close. Memories are flowing through him, bringing with them a million veiled emotions. “I stormed out, even thought about returning to town, but decided to walk through the fields and see if I could calm myself. And then, when I saw you, I knew how I could find a release.” Your hands are now running down his arm, caressing the lean muscles lengthwise. “My apologies, but I thought it would be routine. I’d been with many girls, to be honest. Ladies, barmaids, whores. But this—this was like nothing else. You were so beautiful and delicate. You weren’t afraid to look me in the eye. The way you ran your hands down my body, much as you’re doing now, comforted me in a way I hadn’t been since my dear mother’s passing. And I just thought… she deserves better than this. She deserves better than me. Everyone deserves better than me.” You stop your caresses for a moment to admire how very vulnerable he is before you. It doesn’t escape you that this is a powerful, dangerous man. The very mention of his name strikes fear in countless souls. His skin is carved with cuts, old and new, varying in size. You are in a tug-of-war with your emotions, empathizing with him, yet feeling a profound yearning to take advantage. He is handing himself over to you both physically and emotionally. It’s immensely exciting. 

“Tell me more.”

He shifts his weight on the bed and clears his throat. 

“So many memorable sins, but you… well, I’ve been thinking of you for years. As I undressed you, I was silently making a promise to myself that I would enjoy this while it lasted and never do it again. And I didn’t. I changed for good. But God, how did that memory haunt me.”

You’re touching his skin again, listening to his heavy words.

“You were so open to me. You were frightened, I’m sure, but you did not recoil once at my touch. And when I thrust myself into you, you were sopping wet. You winced just once and then your eyes opened again and you held me closer. Your body was sweltering as if you were with fever and I felt as though I were melting into you. I completely lost myself. And I think now, if I could only make you feel the way you made me feel--” He ends the sentence abruptly with a gasp as you grip his cock firmly in one hand. His teeth clench together while he recovers his speech. “It was like heaven itself. The only thing I could feel was you clenching tight around me, all I could hear…your pleading little moans.”

Your strokes are rough and steady and you add a second hand over his length. The skin slides over the solid shaft, silkier than the silk of the bed sheets. Your entire body is ignited by the sheer tactile pleasure of it. Henry’s face looks pained, but there are no objections from him. Struggling to push the words through his teeth, he continues. “I thought about your body during sleepless nights in my tent in France. It was the only thing that gave me peace… the beauty of your face in agony… the divine feeling of your legs wrapped around my waist… I—I just… ahh…”

As you run a thumb over the leaking head, his eyes appear to lose focus, nearly rolling back before he bites down on his lip to regain composure. It’s a good attempt, but he’s throbbing in your hands now and it seems like there’s no return. He’s so close.  
“No.” The lone word escapes your lips suddenly as you tightly grip the base of his cock in one swift move and he grunts in pain. The throbbing continues, but his eyes are now squeezed shut and his breathing is deep and controlled rather than shallow and ragged. The thrill of denying him his climax is indescribable and you watch the scene before you in disbelief. You wait for him to ease himself from the edge and then decide that you can’t wait any longer.  
“I am ready for you. Feel.” You allow him to reach between your legs again so he may feel the soft, soaking flesh. He looks at you bleary-eyed and licks his lips as if to recall the taste of it from just moments ago. It is like begging without words. 

“Henry,” you begin, “I want you to fuck me like you did then. I want to feel you fully inside me, buried deep. Don’t rush, take pains.” 

He takes in your words as he rubs the back of his neck musingly and finally nods in acceptance, not hesitating to lift himself up to his elbows as you lie beside him with feverish anticipation. He looks resolute again, no longer subdued. When he’s positioned his body over yours you suddenly feel overpowered, his magnificent shadow over you, muscles taut and eyes hard and determined. You really cannot wait.  
He grinds against you absentmindedly a few times, lubricating himself with the juices from your cunt before nudging the opening and pushing in deep until you’re certain you can feel him in your stomach. Your arms spring up to his shoulders as he withdraws and thrusts in deep again, smoothly and confidently. The burning pull of each stroke coaxes your body to adapt to the intrusion until the pain yields and every movement feels absolutely indulgent. His eyes are shut in concentration, but the moans emitting from him express his profound pleasure. It is a blissful rhythm for him, but you are wrecked with desire, and soon the long, deep strokes are not enough. “Harder,” you groan into his ear. “Fuck me harder.” Your knees come up higher to accommodate the pace, which increases immediately. He is still reaching far, and the pressure within you is mounting as you forgo feelings of pent-up longing with every exhale and your fists clench tightly in his hair. This very scene had slipped into your fantasies time and again since it first happened. “Please… faster,” you demand. Beads of sweat from his brow are dripping onto you. His next thrust causes you to raise your hips and cry out as he lands square against the spot that makes your legs tremble. He is panting now and you imagine that he’s coming to his end with the next set of rapid thrusts, but before you can order him to slow down, your mind goes blank and another surge of heat, more powerful than before, leaves you boneless and spent. He rides out your orgasm, gently easing out of the tight sheath and hovering obligingly over you until you invite him in for a kiss. 

You take the time to let your hands linger over his back and sides, warm and damp with sweat. The wave of pleasure has left you momentarily numb and you seek the feeling of his body to regain your senses. The faint scent of leather and roses mixed with the salt of his skin, the sweet taste of his mouth and the low hum that vibrates in his throat. It is all coming back into clarity much too quickly. You begin to think that there is so much you want him to do to you, things you don’t know about, things you shouldn’t even consider. You have resigned yourself to this prolonged last kiss, but then he drops his hips just enough that you feel him thick and solid against your thigh. 

“You’re still hard,” you remark, lips still skimming over his. 

“Ah, yes.”

“How?”

“By the grace of God.”

You giggle against his mouth and feel him smile back. _Oh, Hal._

The sudden break of tension encourages you to trail your fingers down his chest and stomach to his groin and lazily stroke him, making his lower lips quiver. You want him again. More than before, if that is even conceivable. You want him on his back again, but this time beneath you, begging you for sweet release, being pushed to the breaking point where he might just decide it is his right to take control again and you cannot fight him. You grab him by the shoulders and push firmly upwards until he understands what to do.

As you look down on him, his cock seated deep inside you again, you detect a trace of satisfaction on Henry’s otherwise composed expression, and wonder if this is what he dreamt about during the lonely nights in the encampment. A tremor races through you when you shift your hips and you think maybe you’ve been too bold, if you can in fact pull through this without falling apart before him again. His arms lay slack on either side of him, but the body beneath you is tense and struggling to not buck up into you carelessly. 

“You can touch me,” you say, grabbing his hands and placing them on your waist. He holds on well, fingers digging into your skin, but it is only an act of deference. There is nothing guiding your movements as you grind him into the bed, your hands pressed firm against his heaving chest. He feels unbearably rigid inside you, urging you to find delight in the sweet, blunt pain pervading your numbed insides.

“More,” you hear Henry murmur quietly as if he is speaking to himself. “…please…please.” You slow down your pace into a gentle rocking. “Please?”

“Please let me…”

“Let you come?”

“No—no. Let me make you come again.”

You figured that you would bring yourself to your own finish this time while riding him. You can’t imagine what he means, since he asks for nothing more and remains fixed on the bed with his head thrown back.

“Show me.”

One large hand skids across your flesh and settles on the flat area of you lower abdomen. It is dangerously close to the swollen nub concealed from the surface, but annoyingly neglectful of it. You swivel your hips in frustration, but he only responds by pushing into you with force until the front wall of your cunt is compressed between his cock and the palm of his hand. You gasp sharply and don’t dare move at first, but soon enough you are so slick with juices that you have no choice but to bring the agony to an end. 

It’s intense, the pressure of it each time you slide your body down his bare shaft. You roll forward once and feel pleasure pierce through you, shocking you to your core. Tears begin to form in your eyes from the sensation and you realize that although you are making all of the movements and Henry is anchored to the bed, there is no authority from your end. There never was. There is just no competing with him. 

He releases the steady pressure and begins to push in rhythm with you, pounding again and again until your vision flashes blank and you cry out paralyzed. Before you can collapse into him, Henry sits up suddenly and cradles you in his arms. You endure the descent back to earth nestled against the nape of his neck, taking shaky breaths and whimpering softly until there aren’t any more sounds echoing through the king’s chamber. You feel fingers tap the underside of your chin and when you lift your eyes to look into his, you are met with a serious look. Despite the gentleness of his hands as they stroke your back soothingly, his eyes are teeming with fiery fierceness.

“Have I pleased you?” he asks.

“Yes,” you respond honestly, but prudently.

“Could I have given you anything more?”

“No.”

“Is my debt to you paid, then?”

“Yes.”

He hoists you up from underneath your thighs and withdraws from you, leaving you groaning at the empty feeling that now seems unnatural. He entwines his fingers with yours and directs your hand to the place between your bodies where his cock as of yet stands hot and stiff. The moisture from your orgasm permits you stroke it with ease.

“Tell me when,” he states plainly.

“Whenever you want to.”

“Fucking tell me. You will do as I command.”

“N—Now.”

With that single word, he thrusts up into the grip of your hand and places some of his weight on your body, bracing himself. His face contorts in ecstasy as his cock pulsates and the warm, white liquid of his seed spurts out, covering your hand. You watch with a deep feeling of satisfaction as His Majesty falls back into the damp linens, bringing you along with him to lie by his side. He closes his eyes and runs both hands from his face through his hair, panting through the residual feelings of euphoria.  
As you watch him, observe the beauty of his profile in the dim candlelight, the sheen covering his fatigued body, which still appears admirably strong, an abrupt sense of awareness begins to overtake your thoughts. You are in his room, in the nude, with nothing left to do but to be dismissed at his command yet again. He wouldn’t do that now, not after all you’ve shared, you try to convince yourself, but are only left with the fact that you did not know the man then and you do not know him now. You turn away from him and wait anxiously for his breathing to still.

From behind you, you hear him speak. “You are to stay with me tonight, darling. Warm my bed. When the morning bells ring, you may go.”

The feeling is of pure relief and you make a strong effort to hold back a smile. Henry draws you in until you lay flush against one another, the curve of your spine set into his chest. His nose and lips graze your shoulder and you wonder what he must look like now, having given you what he thought was owed to you. How must he feel? It is too much to think of now, when you can still feel the aches of fulfilled lust throughout your body.  
Just as you are closing your eyes, his hot breath skims your ear. He speaks in a voice so very near to sleep.

“If I have committed any other offense against you and am required to make amends, you will tell me, yes?”

“Yes, Sir.”


End file.
